


Week: One.

by Dan_the_Wizard01



Series: STORIES [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: But he'll get back on his feet!, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury Recovery, Inspired by the song "Waiting for Love" by Avicii, Major Character Injury, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Things are rough for Dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_the_Wizard01/pseuds/Dan_the_Wizard01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monday left me broken. Tuesday I was through with hoping. Wednesday my empty arms were open. Thursday waiting for love.</p><p>Thank the stars it's Friday. I'm burning like a fire gone wild on Saturday. Guess I won't be coming to church on Sunday.</p><p>I'll be waiting for love to come around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Week: One.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic of an entire YJ anthology based around the songs from "Stories," by Avicii. Each will have different lengths, chapter amounts, etc. but will all have to do with Young Justice characters and events.

Today was not a good day. Today, his ass was beaten, handed to him on the finest of Alfred’s chinaware, and served with a nice side of roasted Robin. Or rather, roasted Nightwing. Robin is too cursed a name to be used by Dick, or anyone else, anymore. The name Robin is tied to being a target, being the flash of light before the smoke of a smoke bomb. It’s a dangerous name to shoulder. He should know because of Jason’s holo-statue in the cave and base. Jason was so young.

But right now isn’t the time to wallow in self-pity. Dick could do that later; right now, he needed to get out of here, and fast. Strung up in the center of the room, Grayson squirmed, the zip-ties holding his wrists chaffed against the rugged steel of old, worn chains. He felt like cadaver in a butcher’s workshop, limp, with some sort of drug swimming through him and making him feel drowsy, nearly lifeless, bleeding out onto the floor. Red never really was his color. Made his eyes look more bloodshot than necessary. Made his eyes show a weakness he couldn’t have: humanity.

As the crimson color dripped down his leg, he writhed again, trying to stir himself from this forced drowsiness. Movement, adrenaline, that always helped keep the body awake. And that’s exactly what he needed to be right now, because even though his eyes weren’t at their fullest potential, he could see the green curls of a familiar psychopath come closer.

And closer.

And closer.

If the adrenaline from fear alone could help push the drugs out of system, Dick—Nightwing—would be as alert as the sensors in the Bat-cave. He’d be out of there in no time. He’d be gone in the light of a flash-grenade. But that wasn’t the case, because the Joker kept coming closer and closer, and Nightwing was still generally motionless.

And then, he was only a few steps away. And Nightwing’s breathing ceased. He feel his throat and chest tighten as the barrel of the gun traced the muscle framing his extended shoulder. Is this how Jason had felt? He knew this would be how a Robin would have felt in this situation. But he wasn’t Robin. So, Nightwing forced in a deep breath; it was a start to calming those shrill thoughts yelling “GET OUT OF HERE NOW, GET OUT. GET OUT!”

“My, my, Robby-poo—oh, sorry, I mean, _Nightwing_ —aren’t you tense? Relax, kid! I ain’t going to hurt you much,” there was a pause and those bloody red lips curled into the wickedest of smiles. “At least, not like how I hurt little baby bird.”

And Nightwing knew he shouldn’t show fear, especially not with the Joker of all people, but he couldn’t help the thick gulp that pushed down his dry throat.

“Oh? Are you _scared_ , Nightwing? Do you want to run away like the little bird you are?”

Before Nightwing can even offer any sort of wit, the butt of the weapon is slammed into his sternum, and shit, if it weren’t for the Kevlar, Nightwing was certain the bone would have been fractured. He gasps out a cry of pain, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes like tacks.

“Sorry, Nightwing, dearest. You’re no longer a bird! You’re a freaking BAT now! SO act like one!”

Another stern blow to his chest, and the vigilante is shorter of breath than he had been since he had gotten here.

“C’mon, Nightwing,” the psychopath taunts, words like poison dipped hilts. “Fight back! I know you can, boy.”

Nightwing’s mind was a blur of fear and more adrenaline than ever. He could feel his limbs again, finally. And maybe that was what the Joker had planned, but he didn’t care. The black-haired hero needed to feel like he had a plan of action. So, with all his lower body strength, he kicks his legs up, swinging back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum. Given a moment of this, whilst finagling away from the Clown’s grasp, he slams the flats of his feet into the Joker’s face, dead centered.

The bastard bleeds, and god, does it feel good watching crimson drip down his cheeks, staining his white paint pink. Bruce always told him to keep under control, to keep his emotions under wraps, but this felt too good to not savor.

“What, Joker? Bat got your tongue?” Nightwing flaunts, beginning to feel himself come fully to again. He wet his dry mouth and grimed devilishly at him. The Joker waited too long, and now, Nightwing had his mojo back. With an easy and obscure flick of his wrist, the blue-striped hero secretly drags out his lock pick, twisting the serrated edge towards the plastic of the zip-ties.

“Why you little—” Joker lunged viciously, gripping his pistol tighter. There was no need for that yet, that was his last option, his catch 21. The two of them both knew this, though.

And as the Joker attacked, Nightwing finally freed a hand. The angle doesn’t give him the capability to use it, so his legs would have to do as he deflected the other with a knee to the jaw. He swung, feeling at home again on what felt like a trapeze string, and finally frees himself. Nightwing flew—no falling; Nightwing only ever flew—to the nearest structure and attached himself to it, clinging to the metal barracks like a lifeline.

“Get back here, you little twat,” Joker screamed, aiming his firearm at the acrobat. He fired.

And narrowly missed as the young hero jumped from metal shelf to metal shelf, moving closer and closer towards the sun windows of the warehouse. Bullets buzzed passed him with a terrifying whir as he almost reached the top.

Until the Joker finally hit him square in the dead center of his shoulder. Nightwing couldn’t help but cry. It felt like fire, like a small blade that was constantly aflame lodged itself into his muscle. Of course, the Joker managed to hit him in the one joint he hadn’t packed with armor that evening.

Sweat and blood striped the blue of his costume as he just barely manages to pull himself out of the line of fire, and onto the roof. He didn’t have too long, really. Only a moment, to try and fully escape.

And Nightwing knew he couldn’t do that alone, not right now.

Stumbling to his feet, the man tapped on his earpiece, bringing the microphone to life as he mumbled something quiet, something almost desperate sounding. He jumped over to the next building, hiding himself behind the tenant’s ventilation build. He would be safe for maybe… a minute and a half. But that was all the time he needed really. Nightwing knew Bruce wouldn’t let him actually go somewhere alone, not after what had happened to Jason. (He also knew they wouldn’t intervene unless he asked them too, which was a pleasant respect of his boundaries.)

“Nightwing to Cave. I… I need your help.”

And that said, Nightwing feels his body go limp against the vibrating metal box. His last shred of hope were the friendly red curls that bless his presence before he’s out cold.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my friend, [Rod](https://twitter.com/BasedGoddex) for being my editor! As always, criticism is always welcome! You can also get more deets about my stories, and life, on my own Twitter feed, [here](https://twitter.com/bartallxn)! Thank you for reading!


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